


Get Into My Car

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Derogatory Language, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 11:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10464060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Dean and the reader are enjoying a night out, until someone ruins the evening.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, there is body shaming and derogatory terms directed toward a plus-sized reader in this fic.

 

“What is this crap they are playing on the jukebox?” Dean yelled over the eighties pop song blaring from the overhead speakers. “Get out of my dreams, get into my car,” he sang along with the song, mocking it, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Funny you know the words, Winchester, considering how much you’re bitching,” you laughed.

Dean winked at you. “It’s a good line. Get out of my dreams, get into my car. Might have to put it in my repertoire.”

“You’re seriously going to use that line on some poor unsuspecting woman?” you laughed. “Get into my car? Really?”

“No better place to make love than in the backseat of my car. Nothing I like better than making a woman scream in the nice warm confines of that fine piece of machinery. Mmm.” He swallowed the last of his drink.

You closed your eyes, picturing yourself in the backseat of that gorgeous car with Dean doing all sorts of naughty things to you. God, you could only imagine how amazing it would be. 

“Hey, isn’t it your turn to buy?” he said, pulling you from your musings, a cheesy smile on his face, pointing towards the bar with the glass in his hand.

“You still drinking the Glenfiddich?” you sighed, pushing yourself to your feet. 

“Only if you’re buying, sweetheart,” he smirked.

“Drinking the expensive shit on my dime,” you grumbled as you weaved through the crowd towards the bar. “Why do I do this to myself?”

You knew exactly why you did it. You had it bad for Dean, really bad. You’d been harboring a crush on him for years, every since his father had hunted with your parents back when you were both teenagers. The crush had only grown over the years, though the feelings were not reciprocated and never would be. You weren’t Dean’s type - you didn’t exactly fit the stereotypical barfly girl that all the men found attractive. You weren’t sure you were anybody’s type or that anyone found you attractive.

Your self-deprecating musings were interrupted when you were roughly jostled by a youngish looking guy in a backwards baseball cap carrying two bottles of beer. “Watch it, chubbo,” he growled, shooting a dirty look at you over his shoulder.

You grimaced, though you weren’t surprised. You’d been called worse by different assholes over the years, it wasn’t anything knew. It was par for the course when you were what the world considered plus-sized. You’d been dealing with it all your life. You straightened your skirt and held your chin up. You weren’t going to let some insensitive jerk spoil your night out with Dean.

You placed your drink order with the bartender, tapping your fingers on the bar, watching Dean as he weaved through the crowd to the pool tables. He commandeered one of them, right beside the asshole in the backwards baseball cap. Great. You grabbed the drinks, asked to have them added to your tab and made your way to the back of the bar, joining Dean. He traded you a pool cue for the drink in your hand and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. You couldn’t help but notice the asshole roll his eyes at the sight.

You did your best to ignore him, and his friends, who made no secret of the fact that they were jerks, too. You could hear them muttering, even caught what they were saying a few times, and the words stung, stung like they had when you were growing up and people had picked you in PE class, or your so called friends had commented about the amount of food you ate, or the way your clothes fit,or a million other things that reminded you everyday that you were fat and therefore not as good as them.

Dean seemed oblivious to what was happening; he was completely absorbed in the game of pool he was winning. He’d walk past you, his hand lingering on your back or your waist, that easygoing smile on his face. He’d always had a habit of touching you, of being affectionate with you. You’d figured out over the years that it didn’t mean anything. After he sank the last shot, he dropped the pool cue to the table with a smirk on his face.

“Boom!” he hooted. “I win.” He downed the remaining scotch in his glass. “You lose. Ha! You owe me.” He winked suggestively.

“God, I hope it’s not sex,” you heard from behind you. “Can you imagine those fat thighs wrapped around you?”

Dean’s eyes widened and you knew he had heard what the asshole had said. His fists clenched and he took a threatening step forward, but you just put your hand up, stopping him. You put a smile on your face and swung around.

“Well, honey, you’d just be missing out, because having these thighs wrapped around you would be like having a pair of warm, cozy earmuffs on. But I wouldn’t let a douchebag asshole like you touch me in a million years. Your loss, sweetheart.” You reached out and patted his cheek, tossed your pool cue at him, which he fumbled to catch, and turned around.

The bar was dead quiet, even the jukebox had stopped playing. You smiled weakly, straightened your shoulders and looked at the people staring at you. 

“What is everyone staring at?” you questioned harshly.

Those who had stopped to take in the spectacle resumed what they were doing, wisely acting as if nothing had happened. You pushed past Dean, grabbed your things from the table nearby and stalked from the bar.

You burst through the door, gasping for air, your heart pounding, and a whooshing sound in your ears. You hated confrontation, hated it. You’d rather take on a nest of vampires than have to confront someone like that. But past experience had taught you that you had to put people like that in their place or they would never stop. You hadn’t done that just for yourself, but for every woman that asshole had ever body shamed. 

You managed to make it all the way to the back corner of the parking lot where Dean’s car was parked, deep in the shadows, where the light didn’t reach, before you heard him calling your name. You leaned against the Impala, arms crossed, watching him hurry toward you.

“That was fucking awesome!” Dean yelled, dancing a little as he approached. 

You shook your head and tried not to laugh, though the delighted grin on Dean’s face made it very hard. He stopped in front you, one hand resting on the roof of the Impala, the other on your waist.

“Seriously, Y/N, that was awesome,” he smiled. “What you said back there -”

“I know, I know,” you muttered, “too much and too weird to think about.”

“Not what I was thinking at all,” he shook his head. He pulled the keys to the Impala from the pocket of his jeans, unlocked the door beside you, and pulled it open. He tossed his jacket into the front seat. “In fact, I was thinking I needed to try out those earmuffs you were talking about.”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks and pool deep in the pit of your stomach. “What? I mean, I uh, um, I didn’t think that you felt like that -” You blew out a shaky breath. “I’m so not your type, Dean.”

“Who says?” he scoffed. “You’re a woman, aren’t you? A beautiful, smart, kick ass woman. I’ve always been attracted to you. Always. I just never made a move, wasn’t sure you felt the same way. But if you’re interested, all you have to do is say the word, baby. Just one simple word.”

You didn’t have to think twice. “Yes,” you breathed.

Dean didn’t wait for you to say anything else, instead he grabbed you around the waist and pushed you into the backseat of the car, pushing your skirt up around your waist, his hand between your legs, even as he laid you down on the cold leather seat. He was impatient, anxious, his lips on the inside of your thighs, the scruff of his unshaven chin scratching at the sensitive skin, sending exciting tingles through every nerve ending. He twisted his fingers in the plain black underwear you were wearing, pulling them impatiently down your legs, moaning as his lips made contact with your already wet pussy.

His breath was warm as he lapped slowly at your aching sex, his fingers tracing the lips, teasing you. You gasped, squirming beneath him, desperate for more contact, not knowing you’d needed this from him until you were lying sprawled beneath him. 

He didn’t climb all the way inside the car with you, instead he put one knee on the floorboard, his hands digging into your hips, bruisingly tight, his foot planted outside the car, digging into the dirt, using it as leverage to push himself forward as he tasted you, his tongue sliding deep inside of you. He was pulling you into him, his head moving side to side, his beard burning you, and his nose was hitting your clit, and Jesus Christ, he was moaning, little hums of contentment coming from him, hums that were vibrating through your core. Two fingers slid in beside his tongue, caressing your inner walls, his fingers twisting in a come hither motion.

“Oh, fuck, Dean, right there,” you gasped as he hit that spot, that perfect spot, your hands wrapped around his head, your nails scraping his scalp, your thighs closing around him, holding him in place.

“Fuck yeah, baby, that’s what I wanna hear,” he growled, his head coming up for just a second, his eyes on yours, your slick dripping off of his lips and chin. He dove back in, devouring you like you were everything he wanted, everything he needed, muffled moans of sheer arousal coming from him, adding to the vibrations already rocketing through you. He was rutting against the backseat as he fucked you senseless with that sinful mouth, taking you to heights you’d only imagined.

Your hands flailed, reaching for something, anything to hold onto as the most unbelievable sensations rolled through you. You grabbed the back of the seat in front of you, your nails digging into it, the other hand still on the back of Dean’s head, your body completely at his mercy. Wave after wave of pleasure assaulted you as Dean pushed you higher and higher until the orgasm exploded through you, so intense, so strong, that you blacked out.

You came to after just a few seconds to find Dean crawling into the car, his hips nestled between your legs, his hands in your hair, his lips on yours.

“God, I’m so sorry,” you murmured. “I don’t what happened -”

“Jesus, Y/N, don’t apologize,” he smiled. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Other than inflate my already substantial ego. Fuck, that was hot.” He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw, his hips rocking forward, his denim wrapped arousal rubbing against your overly sensitive pussy.

“Dean -” you gasped, your fists clenching in his shirt as new sensations assaulted you.

“Get out of my dreams,” he sang, “get into my car.”

“Whatever you say, buddy,” you giggled. “I’m all yours.”


End file.
